Pushing Words
by applestoalways47
Summary: Dana Scully has been fighting her feelings for Fox Mulder for too long, and she decides to take action. Set around season 6ish. One-shot.


**Pushing Words**

**Disclaimer: **Don't own anything, folks. Everything belongs to Chris Carter and the Fox Network.

**A/N: **First X Files fanfic, guys! I love Mulder and Scully (and David and Gillian) to bits. Enjoy!

I came to apartment 42 with the impractical combination of a resolute will and a nervous heart. I had made up my mind to tell him how I felt, but the fluttering bundle of cardiac muscle in my chest jumbled the words. In those past few years, I had developed a personal theory that the heart rather than the brain controls our speech. Count on me to defy science in the scientific format of hypothesis. If only the distance from the heart to the mouth were shorter; less words would be lost or stored for moment of bravery, stupidity, or both when they would finally be expelled. As a scientist, I knew which organs stored which substances, and despite the involuntary nature of their functions, that knowledge gave me some semblance of control over my body. What frightened me were those stored words, lodged somewhere between my heart and my head, the location of which I had neither knowledge of nor control over. And one man, the man behind that golden numbering on the wooden door, seemed to unlock those stored words and use them to know me better than any other soul on earth.

But three of these words were stuck in my throat, painfully evident in their struggle to be heard. Three words that seemed impossible to voice in his presence. Words that my eyes often tried to convey but never quite made the journey. Ironic how we seemed to have this uncanny ability to communicate without words, and yet words were the only thing holding us back.

My will made my hand move to knock, but my heart made it shake. I rapped my usual three times on the familiar wood, and soon I heard his feet softly padding toward the door, my heart beating faster than his footfalls. I shouldn't have been so nervous; we were best friends, partners, constants, touchstones—but something had changed. There was something in the air between us now, between the gazes that lasted one second too long, the comforting hand folding into mine, giving warmth to the cold sterility of a hospital, the lukewarm iced teas on pointless stakeouts. It was impossible to ignore.

I jumped a little as the door opened, having lost myself in my train of thought. Mulder noticed with a quick up-down movement of his eyes.

"Hey, Scully," he greeted with that slanted half-smile that sent a rush of dopamine to my brain, calming and exciting me simultaneously.

I let out a breath. "Hi, Mulder."

"Come on in," he motioned, leading me to our usual position on the couch. The TV was on, a Knicks game, but the volume was turned low, so I knew he'd been in one of his pensive moods, the TV proving white noise to his complicated web of thoughts. Oh, to be inside that beautiful mind.

I didn't relax into the couch, instead sitting with my back straight on the edge of the cushion. Mulder's brow furrowed in that adorably concerned way, and I knew my cover had been blown.

"What's up, Scully? Something wrong?" he asked, sitting up a bit.

"No, nothing," I replied absent-mindedly, looking down at my hands and picking at the chipping nail polish on my fingers. I could feel his eyebrows rising without even looking.

I finally looked up at him. "I'm fine," I insisted.

"You're always fine," he said resignedly, leaning back into the couch and lifting his feet to rest on the coffee table.

We could have lapsed into our usual small talk, witty banter disguising our true feelings. We could have watched one of Mulder's horrible sci-fi movies from the 50's, ordered take-out, and avoided talking about anything serious.

But the words were pushing harder than they ever had before, pressing past my tongue and scraping against the back of my teeth. I couldn't hold back anymore.

"Mulder," I said suddenly, too loudly. He sat up quickly, bracing himself for a fight or preparing to comfort me, I couldn't tell.

"I'm tired of being fine," I began. "I'm tired of masking my emotions with the same scientific detachment I give a dead body on the slab. I want to be well…more than well. I want to be wonderful. I want…"

I trailed off and met his eyes, hazel orbs wide with shock, unsure how to feel.

"I want you," I finished, my hand unconsciously lifting to cup his cheek. His eyes drifted closed, and he leaned his head into my palm, placing a kiss there as his hand came up to cover mine. I smiled in relief as my eyes began to water.

"God, Scully," he breathed out, still holding my hand to his cheek. "I thought…I thought you didn't feel the way I did. I thought—"

I cut his mouth off with mine, suddenly brave, my hands framing his face as his arms wound around my back, pulling me into his lap. The kiss was passionate and yet slow, vaguely familiar and yet altogether new. He was gentle, careful, not wanting to push things. I pulled away and smiled at his sweetness, my fingers gently playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. His eyes glowed with unabashed happiness and love, yet a glint of bashfulness showed in the half-light of his dim apartment. I kissed him once more, brief yet passionate—a reassurance. He let out a sigh of relief and brushed a strand of hair behind my ear, smiling.

"So does this mean I get to call you 'honey' without any threat of bodily harm?" he asked with a smirk.

I let out a sound between a laugh and a sob as I leaned my forehead against his shoulder. "Count on you to be glib at a time like this."

"Well you can't expect me to get all gushy-gushy, Scully," he retorted, smushing his face into the crook of my neck, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. I broke into a fit of giggles, and he held me tighter.

We held each other for what felt like hours, the warm minutes expanding as we clung to one another. My laughter had subsided, and as we pulled away to look into each other's eyes, the air between us took on a serious tinge.

Then suddenly there was no air between us, our mouths connecting as we breathed each other's air. Slow and sensual, we savored each other, our tongues dancing to a rhythm only we could hear and understand. He lifted me gently off the couch, his mouth never leaving mine, and carried me to the bedroom.

We worshipped each other's bodies, committing every line and curve to memory with eyes and lips and hands. Skin against skin, soul against soul, we gave ourselves to each other in the only way we hadn't yet, fully becoming each other's truths in the face of an uncertain world.

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I didn't wake up in a hangover-induced stupor. I didn't wake up and panic when I noticed the unfamiliar furnishings of the bedroom. I didn't wake up and run for the door when I saw the body next to mine in the bed.

I woke up knowing exactly where I was and whose arms I was in. Fox Mulder curled his body into mine, his face burrowed into my hair, his soft, even breathing tickling the skin of my neck. In this crazy life we led, I knew for certain that I had a constant, a touchstone, a man who would love me no matter what I looked like after too many visits to the hospital over the years. My love for him would never waver either, despite all of his crazy antics and his insane determination to right all of the world's wrongs in his quest for justice. That passion, that drive—those were the things that first attracted me to Mulder. He wasn't just another suit at the Bureau seeing me as simply a piece of ass or the Ice Queen; he valued my intellect and companionship and gave me the best friend I ever had.

Now that we'd taken another step further, as difficult as it had been, I didn't think much would change. He would still be the stubborn know-it-all who did randomly sweet things when he thought I wasn't looking, the relentless crusader fighting for justice in an unjust world, the tender friend, and now lover, who would hold me when the future seemed to hard, when it felt like we could never win. We had been partners, but now, we were one.

We faced each other, our limbs inextricably tangled together, holding each other even in sleep. My face had been buried in the crook of his neck, but I raised it to run my eyes over his face, a face haunted by childhood trauma and over 20 years of searching for elusive answers that always seemed just out of his grasp.

But this face was different. It was not plagued with worry lines or nightmare-induced tenseness. It was tranquil, relaxed in sleep, angelically still and painfully beautiful.

I felt hot tears slide down my face as I reached out to gently card my fingers though his tousled hair. He felt the light touch and stirred slightly, unconsciously tightening his hold on me and burying his head further into my hair. I felt a flush as his body pressed against mine, half with arousal and half with unbridled love for the man holding me. I wanted him to sleep, to keep that innocent face intact for as long as possible, but I was overpowered by my overwhelming desire to speak to him, to hear his clever and beautiful words from his clever and beautiful lips, lips that had claimed my body forever his. I began placing light kisses on his temple, along his cheek to his jaw, and he began waking up earnest.

"You know, Dr. Scully," he began, his eyes still closed as he wrapped a leg tighter around me, "there's this wonderful thing called sleep that's supposed to be real good for ya."

Oh, Mulder. "Says the man who needs three hours of TV before he can fall asleep at four?" I countered. I knew Mulder had not slept this much in quite a while because of his insomnia. I had been relieved when I'd found that I had woken first.

His face was burrowing further into my neck, and I knew there was no escape.

"Well, last night was definitely a better cure for insomnia than TV," he replied. I could feel his lips spread into a smile along my neck.

"Even better than those videos that aren't yours?" I asked in a teasing tone, though I was still nervous about what he thought of me in bed.

He raised his head and raked his eyes sensually over my face before planting a few gentle pecks on my lips. "Infinitely," he whispered as his lips skirted my jaw and brushed the shell of my ear.

I smiled and blushed, happy that I had satisfied him as much as he had me. I knew I wasn't Mulder's usual type physically, but swathed in sheets in the heat of the night, our bodies had meshed perfectly. I felt an involuntary flush just thinking about it.

Mulder lifted his head to look into my eyes, tenderly stroking my sleep-ruffled hair. I lightly traced his jaw and cheekbone with my finger, reveling in the fact that I could finally touch him this way.

He kissed each of my eyelids, then the tip of my nose, then finally my mouth, feather-light touches caressing my skin.

"I love you, Dana," he said softly, his lips brushing mine as he spoke.

"And I love you," I said, opening my moistening eyes to meet his hazel ones. I saw a look of pure adoration in them, and I hope I gave him at least half so loving a gaze in return. In that moment, I knew that we were forever bound together, and even if I couldn't share all of his beliefs, I would believe in him until the day I died.

I had finally dislodged those three words from their hiding place, not out of bravery or stupidity, but out of a deep and abiding love.

**Review if you feel so inclined, darlings.**


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